The River.

There’s a river out West that runs between the banks of Right and Wrong, when the storms travel East; no one’s perspective but our own. One side carves shallow grooves, but swiftly, like ligthtening over the summit … FLASH! And it’s gone and no one remembers until it’s too late. This is what it’s like…

Grubography.

I’ll just leave some of my meals right here. I should reconsider my career choices.